whatever can be accorded

thursday, october 20

For some people, infinity is not for them and what they are. Infinity isn’t for some people, and yet we are all part of it. Sometimes I don’t know why I do things. Maybe people who do are just fooling themselves.

Much and all is elided over. All and much is elided for the absurd indulgence of the craven creed of Respect in the eyes of other men.

Houses are just places where men fuck women. Men fuck men everywhere else. A house is a place for plumbing. Covered plumbing systems inside a house. And also stops the wind.

I just don’t want to lie next to somebody and be lonely.

But then, again, sometimes you think just leave people to each other. People deserve each other; everyone gets what it is they need in their cycle of stupidness. And then I think, what about for the intelligent ones? What about for the ones like me? Oh, I do not want to be left to the wildernesses of the jovial and the quag. It is a burden to all thought – to be left at the mercy of the addled and the strong. That I would, will, not be left. That I have recourse.

So for the ones like me
For the ones like me, and me, we are the others’ recourse. Which is a very funny thing that we can only project through and across the generations. It is a curious thing that we cannot communicate. It is as though our communion is enacted through our powers of imagination, to the extent of our imaginations. An entirely intellectual communion. And not an organic communion. An interiorly physical communion.

Goddamn, are books sacred?